The Adventures of Baelor Stark
by BaelorStark
Summary: Baelor Stark is the Third Eldest son of Lord Eddard and Catelyn Stark, foster son of King Robert Baratheon and Queen Cersei Lannister. When someone finds out about his special ability, the only option he has is to go East, to the free Cities, it is in this place that he falls in love with the very person he should hate. MAGIC, Daenerys Targaryen, AU. OC/DANY. Please REVIEW.
1. Chapter 1

This sotry is AU, where Eddard Stark and Catelyn Stark have 6 Children instead of 5, 7 including Jon Snow.

AGES

Robb Stark (Born 283AC)

Jon Snow (Born 283AC)

Baelor Stark (Born 284AC)

Sansa Stark (Born 286AC)

Arya Stark (Born 289AC)

Bran Stark (Born 291AC)

Rickon Stark (295AC)

Year at the start of Game of Thrones is 298AC. Making Baelor Stark 14 Years old.

* * *

**VARYS**

Vary's looked upon his prisoner with such contempt and utter disgust that any who knew the normally calm and stoic man would ask what had occurred that had made him react in such a negative way, for such an expression had never be seen on the powdery white face of King Landing's very own Master of Whispers.

Varys himself was quiet disturbed at his own reaction to a person he himself had become quiet fond of, though given his colored past it was only right that he would react strongly to the fact that the one thing he truly despised and hated above all else was bound in chains not 4 feet from where he stood. Knowing that his anger would only affect his judgment, he stood silent for a few moments, his body unmoving as he cleared his mind of anger and ill thoughts, a trick he had learned whilst travelling in the Free Cities. Wrapping his billowy robe around him, he knelt onto the cold dungeon floor and sat upon the ground, his small piercing eyes surveying the unconscious form of his captive.

His prisoner was young, between 14 to 15 years of age; he had a handsome, if somewhat long, face, with high cheekbones, a straight nose and headful of short messy brown hair. His tall muscular frame lay upon the cold black floor, tightly bound with chains of heavy iron in order to prevent his escape.

Magic. That was the reason he had taken the great risk of capturing the King's nephew in all but blood., not only risking his position on the small council, but his very life as well, both of which he had no interest of losing. Baelor Stark was the name of his guest, third-eldest son of Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn Stark, and foster son of King Robert Baratheon, first of his name, and the reason for playing prisoner to the Master of Whispers was that said person had been caught practicing the evil and vile thing that is Magic.

Varys' fear of Magic ran deep, stemming from his youth when his manhood was taken from him and used in a Blood Magic ritual, rendering him for all intents and purposes a eunuch. It was this fear that made him act in such hasty and uncharacteristic way, kidnapping one of the very few people in Kings Landing that could end in his head becoming separated from his shoulders.

Although the young Stark was an honorable, charismatic and kind young man, a man who whose conversations and genial manner Varys deeply enjoyed, it wasn't enough to let him get away unquestioned and unscathed. No matter how much he liked Baelor, it was up to him to find out the nature of his magic, and to see whether or not it posed a threat to himself and the realm, for it was these two things that he sought to protect above all else.

Knowing he had little time before questions of Baelor's whereabouts arose, and seeing as he was going to get no answers from the unconscious form of his prisoner, he gathered his purple silk gown in his hands, gazed once again upon the prone, unmoving form of Eddard Stark's son, before closing the heavy iron door and made his way back to chambers, the sound of his slippers non-existent on the stone floor.

**BAELOR**

Baelor awoke with a start, the first thing he noticed was that his head felt as if it had been trampled by a heard of horses, and the second being that his body was wrapped from head to toe in thick heavy chains. He moved from side to side and wiggled this way and that in order to escape his confines', and found to his dismay that the chains were securely in place. After trying a few more times and still not having loosened the chains at all, he decided to give up on trying to break free and decided to inspect his surroundings.

He appeared to be in a small room made entirely of black rock, there was no window s and the only source of light was the small slither that appeared through the door. Based on the fact that he had never before seen this room, a feat which was near impossible as he had explored the castle from top to bottom, meaning he must have been in one of the many secret rooms located beneath the Red Keep.

He didn't know why he was being held captive, or by whom, but he knew that whoever it was that had had the gall to kidnap him, and from his own chamber no less, would pay dearly when his foster father found out that he was missing.

Whoever had kidnapped him must have had a purpose, for ransom would be the obvious choice, him being the child of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, as well as the King's foster child would draw a very large ransom indeed, but Baelor new, after spending so many years in King's Landing, that nothing was as it seemed and no one could be trusted. It was times like this, that he wandered if it was such a good idea coming to the capital to be fostered in the first place.

He remembered how he had begged his father to write to King Robert in order to arrange for him to be fostered at Kings Landing, a place where he could get out from under his siblings shadows, learn the ways of the world, and also learn to become a knight. His father and mother had flat-out refused him, stating that Kings Landing was no place for a Stark, a sentiment that derived from the death of his Uncle Brandon and Grandfather Rickard at the hands of the Mad King Aerys Targaryen.

After making the case that he wasn't heir to Winterfell and as such stood to inherit nothing, and that becoming a knight would be a noble cause in life and would help secure his future and hopefully someday a wife. This course of action didn't appease his lady mother, who no matter the reason didn't want one of her sons travelling to a destination so far from Winterfell, and especially for such a long period of time. In the end he was able to persuade his father into seeing the benefit of having a son who was versed in the courtly manners of the south, two months later he found himself and a contingent of Stark guards on the long journey to his home.

His life in the capital had been interesting to say the least. Upon arriving at King's Landing his foster father had provided him with a large spacious chamber to the east of Maegor's Holdfast, and after settling in he was formally introduced to the King and Queen, and also to the rest of the royal family. His life at King's Landing slowly developed into routine, every week he would be tutored in History, Economics, Astrology, Medicine, Reading, Writing and Languages (his chosen language was Dothraki, a language he found both interesting and useful should he ever travel to the Free Cities), he would then spend good part of his day under the tutelage of his Drill Master as he learned to develop his skills with sword, bow and spear.

Baelor was shaken out of his thoughts by the rattling of steel; it appeared as if his captor had finally returned. Finally he was going to find out the reason for his imprisonment, a fact he was very interested in finding out.

He listened as the unlocking of the heavy iron door could be heard, followed by the squeaking of the hinges, his eyes squinted in the darkness as tried to make out the hooded figure that appeared before him. His eyes widened as his captors torch game into view, illuminating the face of . . .


	2. Chapter 2

"Varys" whispered Baelor, his eyes wide with confusion and to some degree, betrayal.

"ahh yes, I bet your quiet surprised to see little old me, given your family and position in the capital anyone else wouldn't be quiet as shocking, and yet here I stand" said Varys smiling, unaffected by the way his prisoner was looking at him, used to the criticism and hate of those around him.

"Curse you, Spider, I should've known you couldn't be trusted" spat Baelor, "I demand to know why you've taken the liberty to kidnap me from my chamber and the reason for these infernal chains", emphasizing his point by rattling his chains.

"You, my dear friend, have been brought to this most secret and austere location, is that you have been found guilty of practicing the evil, vile and abominable thing that is Magic" Varys exclaimed.

Baelor's eyes widened slightly and it was as if the very breath was removed from his lungs, scared of the fact that not only had someone discovered his long kept secret, but that one person happened to be one of the dangerous, most devious people in the Seven Kingdoms.

"How did you-" he began

"Know" finished Varys, cutting Baelor off. "Let's just say, a little birdie told me. Now, tell me anything and everything you know about this Magic, where does it come from, how long have you had been able to do it. If I find your answers satisfactory, maybe today won't be your last".

Baelor opened his mouth to ask a question, closing it with a sharp click when he heard that he very well may die. He would ask his questions when his life didn't hang in the balance.

Varys walked over to Baelor and grabbed him by the shoulders, and heaving with all his might he was able to prop him up against the stone wall, for although he hated magic and anything to do with it, he wasn't a cruel man.

Baelor struggled as Vary's meaty hands gripped his shoulders and pulled him into a sitting position, unwilling to allow a person who he had once trusted to touch him, though seeing as his entire body was covered in chains, his attempts proved quiet futile.

Baelor glared hatefully at Varys as he the Master of Whispers sat beside him, and he wondered how he had ever trusted him in the first place. His drill master would scold him somewhat awful if he knew he had been captured unawares, especially if they knew it was by the castles resident Spymaster, a man who couldn't fight to save his life.

Seeing as Vary's was just sitting there with a patient smiled on his face, and knowing he wasn't going to get out of this situation any other way, he leant back against the wall and began the tale of how he was able to control Magic.

"It all began 7 years ago. It was the middle of the coldest winter in over a century, the fields were frozen, the stores were closed and everyone was hauled up inside while uncontrollable weather ravaged the countryside. I remember being hauled up deep inside Winterfell, which because of the hot springs underneath the foundations was the warmest castle in the north. One night, while sleeping in my bed I was awoken by a strange noise, it sounded almost as if the very wind was whispering my name, I of course ignored the whispering, thinking it was just a figment of my imagination."

"The next night, the whispering returned, only this time it was telling me to go to the Godswood, three acres of old forest untouched for ten thousand years and home to an ancient weirwood heart tree, a sacred place where my family has prayed to the Old Gods for hundreds of generations. Again I ignored the voices, but as the days wore on I became irrational and slightly deranged due to the countless sleepless nights that I had suffered at the hands of the never ending whispers, and after a week of unending madness that was sending me insane, I gave in to the voices, left Winterfell under the cover of darkness and made my way deep into the bowels of the Godswood."

Baelor looked toward Varys, who hadn't said a word and was paying rapt attention to his story; his facial expression was guarded, so it was hard to guess what he was thinking regarding his tale so far. Clearing his throat he continued from where he had left off.

"And as I stood there, in that dark, primal place, in front of that ancient weirwood heart tree, whose bark was white as bone, whose leaves where as dark as blood and whose long and melancholy face was carved deep within the bark, that the whispering finally began to fade and my mind was once again free form torment. I waited there in the freezing cold for what felt like hours, waiting for something to happen, for anything to happen, and just when I had lost all hope and was about to leave, something extraordinary occurred. I watched in amazement as a spherical ball of light emerged from the Weirwood, and transformed into the form of a child. There I stood, a young boy who had barely reached 7 name days and yet I was one of the privileged few in the entirety of the known world to have come face to face with one of the Children of the Forest, a small childlike creature who had unusual eyes, a thin, graceful figure and only three fingers and a thumb."

"I knelt before the ethereal being, not wanting to be disrespectful, the being told me to rise, its voice deeper and far wiser than he ever would have expected from someone so small and childlike. What followed was by far the most eye-opening and enlightening conversations in my entire life. The ethereal being told me that my family, and the entirety of Westeros, were both in grave danger, from an ancient enemy that would see the destruction of the world. It didn't tell me who the enemy was, or when they would attack, and that the only way to overcome this enemy was to unite the Seven Kingdoms for once and for all. It told me that because of the blood that flows through my veins, the blood of the First Men, that I had been chosen as the defender of Westeros, and as such it was my duty to bring about this unification. "

Varys watched on as the young Stark told his story, not knowing what to believe. Whilst he wasn't a particular pious man himself, he had witnessed many things that suggested that there was some form of Supreme Being out there, whether it is the Old Gods, Drowned God or even the New, he didn't know. His attention turned back to Baelor, who had continued his story unaware that his audience wasn't paying attention, only this time; he noticed that his prisoner's expression had turned darker, more sinister, in nature. He found out the reason why, a moment later.

"When I finally awoke the next, I remember all that had happened the night before, of how I had accepted the role of the Protector of Westeros and had been given the ability to control magic, all without knowing the sacrifices that I would one day have to make. And that, is the reason I am able to perform magic."

"That is", and at this he turned towards Vary's and said with a mischievous grin, "...if you believe in such things".


	3. Chapter 3

**Varys**

Varys didn't know what to think. He had quite possibly heard the most unbelievable story in his entire life, quite a feat given that he was the resident Spymaster and as such had heard an interesting tale or two in his time.

While he himself followed no set religion, he did believe in the existence of a higher being, the blood-magic used against him in his youth evidence that something great and powerful existed in the world.

Yet Baelors story about the Children of the Forest, of being made the protector of the realm and the impending danger that Westeros would soon find itself in, was very hard to belief.

Whether he was telling the truth was hard to discern, everything he had just been told by the young Stark could have been a farce, a pre-made and pre-practised story to tell anyone who should happen across his secret, a secret that could very well result in his death.

The odds that Baelor was telling the complete truth where next to nothing, and yet Varys new that his prisoner was an honorable and honest person, the kind of person who wouldn't say something if it wasn't at least partly true, and if, by chance, the things that he had said where actually the truth and the realm really was in danger, it was his duty to do everything in his power to help Baelor, no matter his fear and hatred of all things Magic.

If Baelor was the chosen one, the one who was destined to unite the Seven Kingdoms and save Westeros from an unknown enemy, then not only would it be the right thing to do to help him in any way he could, but it would also be personally beneficial to him to be at the side of the very person who was about to change the very fabric of society.

Still, there were questions that needed to be answered and plans that needed to be made, and it wouldn't be long before people started to question the whereabouts of his prisoner, he would have to speed things up if he wanted to avoid having his head adorn a spike

**Normal **

"Whilst I am unable to ascertain the validity of your information, and I highly doubt you have revealed everything to me, I know that if what you say is true and your really did acquire your Magic from this so-called Children of the Forrest, then it would be in our best interest to work together, for the good of the realm" admitted Varys, his genial and cheerful disposition returned and at full force.

"You mean to tell me, that after taking the time to capture and interrogate me and not to mention your hatred of all things magic, that you want me to forgive you and for us to work together as if nothing had changed between us." said Baelor incredulously, wondering how a man could completely change his mind in such a small span of time.

"Tell me , Varys, Why would I do something as foolish as working with someone I know would turn against me at any given moment?" he asked, his expression wry with amusement at the sheer audacity of the bald-headed eunuch.

Knowing that Baelor was going to ask a question of this nature, and that he would need to at least start to regain the trust of the young stark, Varys rose from his seated position as his hand reached into his pocket and emerged with a small wrought iron key. Kneeling down on the cold stone floor, Varys was just about to put the key in the lock when his hand hesitated by natural instict, unsure if it was a wise decision to be in the same room with someone who was able to do magic, especially as he had taken said person against their will.

By nature he was a very self-serving person, his first rule being that you never get oneself into a situation where you are at a disadvantage and are unable defend yourself against any and all who wish to cause you harm, and it seemed that he was about to go against one of his fundamental rules, a rule that he had lived for since his days as a mummer.

Hoping that he wasn't making a potentially dangerous mistake, and counting on the fact that his prisoner was known for being noble, honorable and level headed, he went against all that he believed in, and removed the chains that bound his prisoner.

**Baelor**

As the chains fell away from his body, he quickly rolled to his right before jumping up onto the balls of his feet, before noticing that it was he who now held all of the power, and it was Varys who now lay defenseless and at his mercy.

Without even realizing it, he had positioned himself into a defensive stance, his hands raised and ready to use the powers gifted to him by the Children of the Forrest against the person who kidnapped him.

But just as quickly as he had gotten into position he had already relaxed his body, realizing that neither his father, nor his foster father, had raised him to be the sort of vicious person who attacked without thought. Not to mention the fact that it would be a very unwise move to attack someone who was privy to his most intimate secret, a secret that could be damaging should it make its way to the wrong ears.

Despite the fact that Varys had kidnapped him and locked him in a dungeon, both things that he would probably never be able to forgive him for, he knew that Varys spoke the truth. No matter how much he disliked Varys, he knew that the eunuch was very good at his job, knowing everything about everyone and having spies in every city in the known world, and someone with such a skill-set could be a valuable asset to have.

Although his relationship with Varys would never be the same again, the mere fact that he had released him despite knowing that he could be attack at a moment's notice, did show him that Varys was at least trying to make up for what he had done.

Stepping towards his former friend, he stretch out his hand as a sign of friendship, smiling slightly when the powdery hand of the resident Spymaster made it into his own. Just as the eunuch was about to withdraw his hand, Baelor suddenly tightened his grip, preventing Varys from letting go.

Baelors eyes took on an almost primal glint as he gazed into Varys's surprised face, his grin turning particularly predatory as he began to speak.

"Do you hereby swear to do your best to serve the continent known as Westeros to the fullest of your ability, to serve me as faithfully and justly as you do yourself, and to never again betraying me as you have done so here today. It is only after you have accepted these terms, that we can begin to rebuild our friendship".

Seeing no other option in regaining Baelors trust, Varys agreed to all that Baelor had said, his expression turning extremely worried when following his acceptance, a flash of red illuminated the dark room. Varys knew that whatever had just happened before his very eyes couldn't possibly end well for him.


	4. Chapter 4

NORMAL

The situation in the cell had changed. Both Varys and Baelor where sitting side by side, the animosity forgotten between them for the moment as they discussed the impending danger that Westeros was in.

Half an hour had passed and they where still no closer to finding out who the supposed enemy was. Getting up from the floor, Baelor began to pace back and forth as he tried to get his mind flowing , Varys's eyes following his every step.

Minutes past and still Baelor continued to walk back and forth, stopping mid-step every so often and shaking his head, obviously finding the theories he had come up with being inconceivable or all together impossible, before continuing his pacing.

Varys eyes drifted from Baelor's pacing as he too tried to come up with a plausible explanation as to who this enemy was that the Children of the Forest had alluded too, yet five minutes later he was interrupted by Baelors exclamation that he had come up with a couple of ideas that he wanted to go over. Coming out of his revie, he focused his attention to the front and listened as Baelor began to speak.

"Based on the fact that the Children of the Forest told me that I must unite the Seven Kingdoms in order to keep Westeros from its impending doom, which leads me to assume that the impending danger will either come from two possible directions, either the Lands beyond the Wall or from across the Narrow Sea. Of these two, I believe the threat will come from the east as the only possible enemy in the north is the Wildlings, who couldn't band together to save their lives. No, our enemy shall come from the east, yet who the enemy precisely is, I know not" exclaimed Baelor.

As Varys listened to Baelors theory on who he thought the enemy was, he was overcome with a strange feeling to reveal a piece of information that he had only required recently, a piece of information that he had intended to keep close to his chest until the opportune time. Eventually this feeling worsened until he felt that if he didn't reveal this piece of information, that he would be betraying the person who stood before him, and so it was with a heavy heart he decided that his information needed to be told to the young Stark. He only hoped that his old friend Illyrio Mopatis wouldn't be too upset when he found out that it was he who had released the highly coveted, highly dangerous information.

"It appears as if today may very well be you lucky day my young friend, for I have recently learned of some information that you may find very helpful" Vary's said, capturing Baelors immediate attention as the young Stark turned to face the Master of Whispers, quiet keen on learning the information that the eunuch possessed.

Seeing as he had Baelors undivided attention, he began to speak. "Not mere days ago, whilst I was taking my evening stroll, I was brought the most unexpected news by one of my little birdies, news that happened to come from the Free City of Pentos."

It was at this point that Baelor decided to tell Varys too stop beating around the bush, and that he better needed to get to the point before an accident happened, an accident involving a large amount of pain on Varys's part, after which Vary's dropped the pomp and pageantry and got straight to the point.

"The last remnants of the Targaryens have been found" stated Varys.

"Targaryens, have been found" whispered Baelor, mindlessly mimicking Varys as he didn't know what else to say.

BAELOR

Baelor stumbled backwards, his back hitting the cold stone wall as he fell to the ground in shock, the realisation of what he had just been told finally registering in his mind.

The news that Varys had just told him, the news that the lost members of House Targaryen had been found, was not what he had expected to hear, and he definitely wasn't happy about the news that he had just received.

For as long as he could remember he been brought up on stories of his grandfather Rickard and his Uncle Brandon Stark, both of whom had died at the hands of the Mad King Aerys II Targaryen during Roberts Rebellion.

When the Mad King had charged his grandfather and his uncle with conspiring to kill the crown prince, his grandfather had demanded a trial by combat, which the Mad King agreed to. Yet the Mad king lied, and stated that the Targaryen's champion was fire. A fire was then lit beneath his grandfather, who happened to be dressed in his armour, and as his grandfather was slowly roasted alive, his uncle Brandon was made to watch with a noose around his neck and a sword just out of his reach. It was trying to reach that sword and to save his father from dying that his uncle Brandon strangled himself to death.

It was after learning of this information from his father that he had swore vengeance against House Targaryen, for if it wasn't for the Mad King his uncle and grandfather would both still be alive today.

It would be a good day when he would be able to finally right the wrongs that had been committed against his house and to finally put an end to the Targaryen line once and for all.

Knowing that dwelling on the past would not get anything done and that the anger bubbling up inside him wouldn't help the situation, he took a couple of minutes to calm down before getting to his feet and addressing Varys.

NORMAL

"You said Targaryens, as in more than one, who exactly are these Targaryens. What branch of the family do they come from" asked Baelor in quick succession, eager to know more information regarding any surviving Targaryens.

"My sources tell me that they are from the main Targaryen line, Viserys and Daenerys Targyen, younger brother and sister of Rhaegar Targaryen and children of the Mad King" replied Varys warily, not sure on how Baelor was going to take his most recent news.

Baelor's murderess facial expression was all that Varys needed to know that the information he had just said hadn't set well with , and he was mildly surprised when the young Stark had not broken down in a fit of rage, and had instead adopted a thoughtful expression on his face.

It was a while before Baelor spoke, and when he did his voice held none of the anger or fury that he was feeling deep down within himself, instead it was filled with conviction and determination.

"With Viserys being the heir to the Targaryen dynasty, with the right backing behind him from the Free Cities or any of the slave cities, he could possibly be the rallying point for a Targaryen restoration, it has happened before, it can certainly happen again. Maybe the Targaryens are the unknown enemy. It's the only logical explanation that I have come up with. A Targaryen restoration is something that I cannot, nay, will not let come to pass. "

"If what you believe to be true, is in fact true, then what do you propose to do about it. It's not like you can just go around saying that the Children of the Forest told you that Westeros is in danger, you'd be branded a heretic for sure" said Varys.

Baelor knew that Varys spoke the truth, he could not go around telling just anybody about the imminent danger that Westeros was in, let alone to the King. No. He would have to do this by himself, he would need to find cold, hard, evidence that suggested an invasion from the east, only then would the rest of the Seven Kingdoms band together and put an end to those who would see Westeros brought to it's knees. And if it should prove that Targaryens where not planning an invasion of Westeros, than he would avenge his grandfather and uncle by laying waste to the Targaryen line once and for all.

Turning towards Varys, a grim look on his face and a cold look in his eyes, he proclaimed.

"I shall cross the Narrow Sea, and to the Free City of Pentos"

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	5. Chapter 5

NORMAL

"No. Abso-bloody-lutely not. I forbid you from doing any such thing." bellowed the King as he sat down behind his desk, a large goblet of wine in one hand a leg of chicken in the other.

"Please Uncle, I need to do this. The honor of my house is at stake, if I don't do this, I would be a disgrace to my family, unworthy to bare the Stark name. My grandfather and uncle died at the Mad Kings hand, it is my duty to avenge them" argued Baelor, trying to get his foster father to see that it was his duty to cross the Narrow Sea.

After he and Varys had finished their conversation and had gone their separate ways, the first thing he had done was go straight to King Robert and explained the situation regarding the Targaryens, omitting the parts about the Children of the Forest, his Magic and the impending danger that Westeros was in. For the last hour or so he had been trying to get his uncle to allow him to go across the Narrow Sea in order to take out a potentially dangerous claimant to the throne, yet so far, all had been for naught.

Robert sighed as he put down his food and took a last gulp of wine, before clasping his hands together and looking into the sullen and dejected face of his nephew in all but blood.

"Look Baelor, the murder of your grandfather and uncle was one of the most deplorable and heartbreaking things in my entire, I saw first-hand what it did to your father and I know what it means to want revenge on those that have hurt you and yours, but, it is my duty to raise and protect you your father would have my balls if I were to let you leave the capital. Don't worry about the dragon spawn, they'll be dealt with in time" Said Robert, picking up his goblet and taking a large swig, dabbing at the large drops that ran down his beard with a cloth.

Knowing that he needed his uncles seal of approval if he wanted to travel to the free cities, he knew that he would need extra incentive in order to persuade his uncle to let him travel across the Narrow Sea and he had knew just how to do it.

"I was talking to Lord Baelish the other day and it would seem that Crown is another million gold dragons in debt, If you allow me go to the Iron Bank of Braavos, I could negotiation a loan on your behalf, after which I could seek out the Targaryen children and avenge the lives of my grandfather and uncle" stated Baelor, hoping that the promise of gold would entice his uncle into allowing him to travel east.

Robert looked thoughtful for moment, the prospect of more gold an enticing offer, before realizing that he could get someone else to negotiate the loan and an angry Ned Stark was something he didn't want to face.

"Sorry son, no can do" said Robert, shaking his large mane of hair from side to side.

Baelors shoulders sagged; this was not how he had imagined things were going to go. The only other option he could think of was to beg his foster father in allowing him to go, something that he had never done before.

Kneeling on the floor, Baelor bowed his head in the direction of his foster father he began to beg the King for the privilege to travel across the Narrow Sea and to defeat his enemies.

"Uncle. For years now I have lived in this fair city, learning the ways and customs of the South, hoping one day to become a knight under the tutelage of Ser Barristan Selmy. Since I came here 7 years ago I have strived to be the best that I can possibly be, studying warfare and swordsmanship, politics and economics, and yet even though I have learned a lot in the capital, I still haven't gotten any real world experience, and I believe this may be the opportune time for me to go out and test the knowledge that I have acquired over my many years of learning. I believe, I am ready to become a man. Will you please allow me to cross the Narrow Sea and let me prove to you that I am worthy of being both a Stark, and your foster son"

King Robert watched as his nephew explained with such conviction and heart as to why he should be allowed to cross the Narrow Sea, and he knew that there came a time in every man's life that he just needed to go out and prove that what they had been doing wasn't all for nothing, oh how he remembered the good old days when he used to fight and sleep with anything that had a pulse. There was only one way to tell if Baelor was ready to face the outside world, and that was to speak with boys mentor.

"Barristan, get in here" bellowed Robert, picking up his goblet and sinking deeply into his chair, gesturing with his hand for Baelor to stand up, which he did just in time to see his mentor enter the room.

Ser Barristan had long white hair, a clean shaven face that was etched with deep lines, showing his advancement in years, and light blue eyes.

Yet despite his looks he stood as tall and proud as a man half his, his body adorning the traditional white garb of the Kingsguard, a sword on one hip and a dagger on the other.

"Your Grace" exclaimed Ser Barristan, bowing at his waist, before turning to his right and acknowledging his apprentice, "Baelor".

"Master" replied Baelor, bowing low in order to show respect to the man who would one day, hopefully make him a fully-fledged knight, something that would never had occurred had he remained in the North.

"What may I do for you Your Grace" asked Ser Barristan, curious to know why the King had asked him into his chambers.

"Baelor here has requested a leave of absence from the city. He wishes to travel to the Free Cities in order prove himself a man. What do you think, has he proven himself a capable squire" asked Robert, draining the rest of his cup in one large gulp as he looked between Baelor and Ser Barristan.

Ser Barristan blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting this turn of events, getting himself under control, he turned to his apprentice and inspected him from head to toe, clearly trying to distinguish if his squire was ready to venture out on his own and experience the real world.

Minutes past and still Ser Barristan continued to inspect his charge, becoming quiet impatient without any wine on hand; Robert cleared his throat, capturing the attention of Ser Barristan who apologized for taking so long.

"When I made the young Lord Stark my apprentice 5 years ago, I knew that he had the potential, the will and the skill to become one of the finest Knights in all of the Seven Kingdoms, and upon revue of his performance over the last several years, it is my personal opinion that he has not only met my expectations, but that he has gone above and beyond what I had ever dreamed to expect from. As such, I believe that not only is he ready to venture into the great wide world, but I belief it that he has shown that he is courageous, brave, honorable and loyal enough to become a fully-fledged Knight" comment Ser Barristan, his eyes filling with pride and a small smile making its way onto his usually stoic face, as he gazed upon the flabbergasted face of his apprentice.

Baelor was so surprised by this that he almost didn't respond, but luckily enough he was quick to recover and he reacted appropriately to the major information that had just been dumped on him.

"Thank you, Master. I hope that I will be able to live up to your expectations and that in time I will be able to prove myself to be just as honorable, courageous and loyal as you."

"It is settled then, Baelor shall be knighted and will travel across the Narrow Sea" Robert declared, standing up and calling for more wine, a server immediately appearing in the room, a serving tray laden with more wine and more goblets balance in his arms.

As the server was busy filling the goblets, Robert stood up from his seated position and made his way to over to Baelor, who seemed to still be in shock.

"I might not say this every day, as you know I'm not too good with all of this emotional stuff, but I knew the moment that I saw your face all those years ago that you would make me proud, and today you have proved how right I was. I am proud to call you my son in all but blood and I know that you'll be the finest Knight in all of the Seven Kingdoms" Robert admitted, his shining with unshed tears of happiness as he looked proudly upon the son of his dearest friend, proud of what the young man had accomplished in such a short amount of time.

Baelor smiled up at his uncle, knowing that showing such raw emotions was hard for him and he was grateful beyond reckoning that he had said what he had, for it was a wonderful feeling knowing that a person you had admired for so long also felt the same way about you. So caught up in his inner ramblings was he that he almost didn't see his uncle hold out his meaty hand, but was able to grasp it just in time as the King shook it, his powerful arm nearly removing Baelors limb from his shoulder.

Grabbing the jug of wine, Robert filled three goblets and handed one each to Baelor and Ser Barristan, holding his cup high in the air and with a genuine smile on his grizzled face.

"To Baelor, a finer man there never was" proclaimed Robert, bringing his goblet to his lips and draining it in one large gulp, belching loudly after he had done so.

Ser Barristan looked towards Baelor, and Baelor could clearly see pride reflected in the blue eyes of his mentor, they smiled at each other, not a large happy smile, but a smile that conveyed the fondness and respect for one another, a bond that had been forged over many years of friendship and hard work, a bond that only existed between Master and Apprentice.

"To Baelor" copied Ser Barristan, taking a small swig of his wine, aware that he shouldn't even be drinking whilst on duty.

Thinking that it would be a little weird toasting himself, Baelor just followed his uncle's example and downed his entire cup. Placing his cup on the table, he looked towards the king, a large grin plastered on his face.

"So. When do I leave?"

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	6. Chapter 6

**nBAELOR**

"Ahhhhurgghhh" moaned Baelor as he clung to the rail of the moving ship, the taste of vomit fresh in his mouth. Yes he, Ser Baelor Stark, suffered from the great and horrible affliction known as Sea Sickness.

A whole month had passed since he had set sail for the Free Cities, a whole month since he had left everything he had ever known behind, and a whole month since he had officially been knighted.

If he closed his eyes he could still recall the knighting ceremony with such vividness that it felt as if he was right back in that very moment, surrounded by his friends and family, and the entirety of King's Landing, as he swore to be a protector of the faith and to uphold his vowels of chivalry, bravery and honor.

After the ceremony a large feast had been held in his honor. Oh and what a feast it was. The food, the company, the entertainment, all of it was positively brilliant. While most of his evening was spent talking to the various guests that had been invited to the feast, the rest of his time was spent in the admirable company of the King, his two brothers and his two brothers-in-law.

Ser Jaime was someone he had looked up to for his entire life. Not only was he the youngest Kingsguard ever, but he was also one of the finest swordsman in all of the Seven Kingdoms, as such he was very easy to get along with, their conversations mainly focusing on fighting technique's and the like.

Tyrion on the other hand, was someone he got along with mainly for the reason that he was quiet possibly the most amusing person he had and would ever meet. Tyrion had been criticized for being what he was his entire life, it was because of this that he had learned to make cruel japes at everything and everyone, telling the world exactly for what it was. Not to mention the fact that Tyrion was by far one of the smartest people that he knew and as such was quiet the, and it was these refreshing qualities that made him like the sarcastic, shrewd and calculating dwarf.

Never where their two more dissimilar people than Stannis and Renly Baratheon. Renly was young, fun-loving and easygoing, free from the responsibilities that his older brothers were subjected to. Stannis on the other hand was serious, dour and humorless, not the type of person you'd sit around the ol' tavern and share a joke with. Yet despite Stannis' less than jovial disposition, there was no denying that he was the most noble, honorable and law-abiding person that he knew ... except perhaps his father.

Whilst he didn't get along that well with Stannis, his rigid and humorless nature not something that endeared him to people, yet he couldn't help but have respect for the man, especially after the events that transpired after the feast.

As the feast wore on well into the morning, more and more people retired to their chambers, until the only ones remaining where himself, King Robert, Tyrion, Ser Jaime, Lord Stannis, Renly and the cleaning servants.

They sat scattered around the table, each grasping a goblet of wine as they joked, laughed and celebrated him becoming a man, telling stories of war and of their many sexual conquests, a topic that made his face burn with embarrassment. It wasn't long before someone had come up with the great idea to have him lay with a woman, and before he knew it he was being whisked from his comfy seat and down to one of the many brothels that occupied Flea Bottom.

It wasn't that long before he was being shoved into a room with a beautiful blonde, who happened to be wearing very little clothing. Yavanna, as he later found out, pushed him onto the bed, her hands making quick work of his tunic as she swung her legs over him and straddled his waist, his face blushing all the way. Things started to heat up, and it was just as Yavanna started to remove her clothes that he knew that what was happening before him wasn't right. He was supposed to save himself for someone that he could share his life with, someone who he truly loved and who loved him in return, and not for some beautiful women who was being paid to sleep with him. Not to mention it would stain his honor if it was to get out that he, a son of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, had cheapened himself by lying with a person of ill-repute, let alone someone not of his station, nor of his lineage.

He remembered rushing from the room only minutes later, his shirts and boots in his hands as he shut the door behind him, and right into the laughing faces of the very men who had brought him to the whore house in the first place.

Yet as his eyes landed on the face of Stannis Baratheon ( the only one who had protested against them taking Baelor to a whore house) he didn't see mockery or amusement, but what he did see, or at least what he thought he saw, was a look of newfound respect, respect for not going through with something that he had vocally admonished. And that was why he respected Stannis, out of all the guys who had practically forced him to have sexual relations before he was ready, he was the only one who had voiced his disproval of the idea, and was the only one to not to laugh in his face about not sleeping with a women who wasn't his wife. No matter what could be said about Stannis or his many less than admiral qualities, there was no denying that he knew how to do his duty, giving no thought to his personal feelings.

It was fortnight later, after all of his affairs where in order, that he said his farewell to those he called family and to the place he'd called home for many years. The King and he had decided that it would not be safe to reveal the true nature of his departure from the Capital, and so everyone besides Ser Barristan, Varys and King Robert, believed him to be travelling to Winterfell in order to visit his family and to inform them of his recent knighthood. Even the Queen was unaware of his real reason for leaving Kings Landing, something that he wasn't quite comfortable with, Cersei having been like a mother to him whilst he had been fostered at King's Landing.

Seven years had passed since he had last walked the ancient halls of his forefathers, an awfully long time for one so young to be away from ones family. The last time he had seen his father and mother and his siblings for that matter, was when his youngest sister Arya had just had her second name day, to think that she would have already had five more without him was astonishing. He hadn't even met his two younger brothers, Brandon and Rickon, having left Winterfell to be fostered whilst his lady mother was still pregnant with Brandon. He had intended to return home every couple of years in order to visit his family, but as he got older his schedule became more so demanding that he had little time to breathe let alone take time off to travel north. Now that he had become a fully-fledged knight, he was looking forward to returning home in order to see what kind of people his siblings had grown to be, something that had sworn to do as soon as he returned from the Free Cities.

Baelor was brought abruptly out of his musings by the loud blast of horn, and the sound of the captain bellowing at his crew to pull hard to starboard, to turn the sails to the wind and to go forward with all haste.

Raising swiftly on shaky legs he turned around wildly as he tried to see what all of the commotion was about, which was kind of hard considering the crew was running from station to station as they hurriedly followed out the captains orders.

Getting up from the floor he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, cleaning any leftover vomit from his lips as he searched the length of the ship for the captain.

Several moments passed as he looked the ship up and down, until he finally spotted the person he was looking for at the very back of the ship, spyglass pressed against his right eye as he looked off into the distance.

Captain Martyn Santagar was a portly, middle-aged man with short dark hair, sun-tanned skin and a large bushy beard. He was of average height, yet his strict posture hinted at a military background, and wore an intricate leather tunic with brown trousers and heavy black boots. A deep red belt hung around his waist, upon which a number of objects where hanging, most notably a large steel sword, simple of design yet deadly in the wrong hands.

Martyn's ship, so named "The Challenger", was a large trade ship, used for the import and export of various items, mainly cotton, marble, spices, salt, sugar, silver and fur. The reason Baelor had found himself aboard this particular vessel was because it would be unwise to travel across the Narrow Sea in a ship bearing the royal emblem, something that would draw all kinds of unwanted attention.

Baelor began to weave his way through the many crewmembers carrying out their duties, and as he made his way to the rear of the ship he tried exceptionally hard not to throw up again as his stomach turned uncontrollably and his completion took on a slightly green hue.

Climbing the steps that lead up to the back of the ship he hurried over to the Captain, who was still looking off into the distance with his spyglass.

"What is it? Why have we change course" exclaimed Baelor.

Captain Santagar removed his spyglass from his eye and closed it slowly, his face ashen gray and his eyes wide as he turned to face the young knight, whispering a word that Baelor had hoped he wouldn't hear on his voyage to the Free Cities. Santagar's voice was filled with such hopelessness that Baelor knew that what was about to happen couldn't possibly go in their favor.

"Pirates"

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Images of Martyn's Sword and Tunic can be found on my Profile.


	7. Chapter 7

BAELOR

When he had first decided to travel across the Narrow Sea, far away from the safety of King's Landing, he knew that many dangers would lie before him, many more so on account of who he was, but one thing he had not expected was to run into trouble before he had even arrived at Essos.

Learning that The Challenger was being pursued by pirates had reaffirmed his belief that his journey East was destined to be difficult and rife with dangers. From his point of view, there was but a few likely outcomes that could come from an encounter with the so-called pirates, each more unappealing than the last.

The Pirates could board The Challenger, take everything of value and then leave, they could board the ship and take everything of value whilst killing everyone on board, or they could take everything, including the ship, and take the crew as prisoners or slaves. If it was up to him and he was forced to choose one of these scenarios, he would definitely choose the first option.

But no matter what he wanted to happen, he knew that when the time eventually came and he and the rest of the crew were forced to interact with the people following them, that it would be his job to protect everyone aboard The Challenger, even if it meant sacrificing himself in order to do so. Such was it his duty, as a Knight of the Realm.

"What's our course of action?" asked Baelor, coming out of his thoughts and turning to the captain, who happened to be having a conversation with the ship's deckhand. Getting no response from Santagar, he decided to wait until the two had finished their conversation.

"... then go down into the cargo hold and throw anything overboard that we can spare to loose. If where lucky it may just be the speed advantage we need in order to outrun these sons of whores" barked the Captain, dismissing his second-in-command with a wave of his hand.

"ahh, Ser Baelor, just the man I wanted to speak with. It appears as if the Pirates are catching up with us faster than I'd feared, another couple of hours and they'll be hot on our tail. I'm hoping that my plan will be able to speed us up enough for us to outrun these bleeding Pirates, but my hopes aren't very high" said Santagar, his once youthful face now weather beaten and covered in deeply etched lines, his many years at sea having not been kind to him.

"Why do we flee, why do we not turn and fight." he asked of Captain Santagar, quiet confused as to why the person before him wasn't standing his ground against someone who wished he and all those on board harm.

"We flee because we have no chance of besting a group of men who fight, rape and pillage for a living. We are but merchants and deckhands, laborers and accountants, not soldiers or knights, and so we flee because it is the only way that we are certain that we may live another day" Santagar answered, his voice becoming louder and fiercer the more that he spoke.

Baelor made to argue that all was not lost, that courage could be found in the most unlikely of people, but instead he decided to hold his tongue, knowing that his attempts would only cause unneeded conflict between the Captain and himself, and instead decided to find out if their was anything he could do to help.

"What would you have me do?" asked Baelor.

"What can you do? oh No no no, you have it all wrong Ser Baelor, you are much too important to remain onboard The Challenger. If the pirates where to get ahold of you, there's no telling what they would do to you in order to use you against King Robert, something that I cannot in good conscious allow to happen under any circumstances. It is for this reason that I have told my second-in-command to prepare the rowboat, if you leave now you should be able to go far enough to avoid detection" answered Santagar, a sad look in his eyes that showed that at least he could save one person from imminent death.

But the reaction from Baelor upon hearing this news was not what Santagar had expected, for instead of the elated and joyous expression that he thought his news would bring to the young Starks face, he instead was met with a scornful expression, an expression that he hated to admit, looked perfectly natural on the handsome northerner's face.

"What do you take me for Santagar?" breathed Baelor. "A man without honour? A man so selfish and devoid of morals that I would abandon those in need in order to save myself? If you believe these things about me to be true, then you obviously don't know me at all."

"When I stood in the centre of Kings Landing, before tens of thousands of people, I swore before the Old Gods and the New that I would defend the weak, protect the innocent and to spread the faith. I swore to be brave and honourable, courageous and noble, and to uphold all of the values that a true knight ought to possess. These are my oaths and I don't intend to break them".

Captain Santagar couldn't believe his ears. Before him stood a most exceptional human being, the likes of which he had never before seen. Never before had he come across a person who was willing to put aside their own personal safety in order to save the lives of someone else, let alone someone who had only seen thirteen name days. His only wish was that all people could be as wise and as noble as Ser Baelor Stark.

"I am so very sorry Ser Baelor" apologized Santagar. "I did not mean to bring your honor into question, nor your integrity. It's just that . . . not many people would choose to put themselves in harm's way in order to save someone else, alas if it is your choice to remain here and risk impending doom, then who am I to stand in the way of a knight doing his duty."

"What would you have me do" asked Baelor for the second time, becoming increasingly annoyed with his lack of response from the older man.

"To be perfect honest, there isn't a whole lot that you can do at this particular time, the crew are doing everything possible in order to make us go as fast as we can, the only thing we can do know is to sit back and see if our efforts are for naught or not" replied the Captain.

"And if they prove to be so?" asked Baelor.

Santagar turned his head so that he was looking directly into the eyes of the young knight, his face grim and his eyes grave.

"Then we fight. We fight for all where worth"


	8. Chapter 8

NOTE: Images of Baelors Tunic, Cloak and Sword can be found on my Profile.

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BAELOR

Hours passed, and still the unnamed Pirate ship continued to follow The Challenger, unrelenting in its pursuit of the small, yet bountiful ship. The Crew worked tirelessly to try and put as much distance as they could between them and the enemy, yet this was quiet difficult given the fact that the offending ship was bigger and as such had larger sails, which meant that it was able to go faster than the Challenger, and secondly the crew where becoming increasingly weary from all of their hard work, their pace becoming slower and slower as each hour passed.

The Captain could be seen stalking the length of the deck, shouting commands at his employees and helping where possible, determined to not let he, nor any of his crew, fall prey to the devils that where pursing them.

Whilst all of this was happening, Baelor could be found in his cabin, a teeny tiny room that had been his home for the last month or so. The room was roughly two meters wide and two meters long, containing only a bed made of straw and covered in animal skins, and a small wooden crate that acted as a makeshift table.

Currently Baelor could be seen kneeling in the center of his room, his head bowed and his eyes closed as he prayed to the Seven, the lack of Weirwoods in this part of the world making it quiet impossible to pray to his families' tradition gods.

To the Warrior he prayed for strength and courage, so that his blade swung true and so that he may be victorious upon the battlefield. To the Crone (the wisest of the Seven) he prayed for guidance, in the hope that she would guide him well on his remaining quest and to see him safely to wherever it was that he ended up. And lastly, but definitely not least, he prayed to the Father , he prayed for protection against the unknown, he prayed that justice may be carried out upon those who would soon face them in combat, and lastly he prayed for forgiveness. Forgiveness for the deaths that were about to be caused by his hand, for although the Pirates where his enemy, it didn't lessen the fact that they too where human.

Most people would say that one either believed in the Old Gods, the New Gods, the Drowned God, etc. and that to follow more than one religion was blasphemous and simply unacceptable, but Baelor disagreed. He believed that each god was one and the same, that although they may have had different names and took on different forms, but in the end it was all just one deity being worshipped by people with different outlooks on life. It was his meeting with the Children in the Forrest all those years ago that led him to believe this to be true, for if a god could walk in one form, then it could certainly walk in another. So even though he was praying to the Seven and not to the Old Gods that his family had worshipped for time beyond reckoning, he was in reality praying to all of the gods in existence.

From his position on the ground he looked around his bedroom and shook his head with a look of amazement in his eyes, to think that a month had passed with him living in such a state was simply astonishing. All his life he had lived in large and richly decorated rooms, rooms fit for someone of his bearing and noble heritage, yet living in such a small room with no furniture and only books to read had definitely made him appreciate those less fortunate then himself.

Sitting up from his kneeling position, Baelor turned to the corner of his room and began to search through his various personal items, resurfacing a moment later with a tightly wrapped bundle of cloth. Carefully placing the bundle on the bed, he made quick work of untying the leather cords that held the package together , before grabbing a corner of the cloth and slowly unfolding the bundle.

Inside lay an assortment of items, clothes, weapons, armor, gold and other such personal effects, all of which had been given to him by his friends and family, and as such where very dear to him.

After he had been knighted, Ser Barristan had asked for him to visit him in his chambers, as he had several things that they needed to discuss. They talked of his responsibilities and duties of becoming a full-fledged knight, of how he would need to find a wife and build a home, and various other such topics. It was hours later, just when he was about to retire for the night, that his mentor revealed that he had several gifts to give him, a practice common among master and apprentice.

As it turned out, the gifts that Ser Baristan had given him consisted of a sword and scabbard, black leather boots, a dark grey sleeveless tunic and a thick woolen cloak of the same color.

Picking up the sword from his bed, Baelor once again marveled at the beauty of the blade, and not for the first time wondered how Ser Barristan could have afforded such a magnificent piece of weaponry.

Not only was the sword exceptionally beautiful, it also happened to be made of Valyrian steel, the strongest steel in the known world, steel that had been forged by magic and dragon fire.

The sword was about 95 centimeters long, had a heavy double sided blade with a fuller that went to about halfway and which had high valyrian written down the centre. The crossguard and pommel were both simple in design, the pommel being a circle shape with a seven pointed star engraved upon it (obviously a new addition to the blade) and the crossguard being a solid bar with slightly upturned edges, and finally the handle was made of steel covered in a rich dark red leather, the same leather that had also been used for its scabbard.

Putting the sword aside, he stood up and began to undress himself for the impending battle, quickly relieving himself of his breeches and shirt, until he stood in nothing more than his undergarments. Firstly he pulled on new shirt and breeches, both black in color, he then pulled on his chain mail (a shirt made of tiny metal rings that linked together and acted as armor), which was mid-thigh long and elbow length in the arms. Next came his tunic, which was dark blue in color, had a long split down the front, was sleeveless, and went all the way down to his ankles. Picking up his sword his secured it to the left side of his waist, before sitting down and pulling on his black, knee-high leather boots, and clasping his thick woolen cloak around his neck (also black of color), before pulling the hood over his head in order to mask his appearance.

He had asked Ser Barristan about putting his family sigil on his tunic and cape, but had been reminded that he was supposed to keep his identity a secret, and so he decided to wait until he was back in Kings Landing in order to do so.

Knowing he didn't have time to waste, he decided to put everything that he owed, his books and clothes, his quills, ink, and other valuables into a rucksack in case he needed to grab them in a hurry. And all in the nick of time it seemed.

For as he stood in the center of his room, the contents of which now lay in his ruck sack, he was made aware of the ships impending danger by the loud blast of a horn, a signal that the Captain had told him would signal everyone to get to their battle stations.

Quickly placing his rucksack near the door, he quickly made his way from his room at the back of the ship. As he made his way above deck, he was forced to duck and weave between the hustling and bustling of the ship's crew, all of whom where scuttling around, tripping over objects and bumping into one another in their haste to get ready. Shaking his head, Baelor quickly pushed his way past the remaining crewmembers, before climbing the wooden ladder that led to the ships surface.

What awaited him above deck however, was not what he had expected. He had expected the same type of chaos that was happening below deck, yet where there was running and stumbling below, the complete opposite was occurring above.

The Crew stood in the center of the ship, all of the scattered around hap hazardously as all of them looked to the east, not a sound to be heard from any of them. As he made his way over to the Captain, he could practically feel the fear and tension in the air, the men having given up all sense of hope as they await for their inevitable deaths.

"What is it? Have they caught up with us already?" asked Baelor as he came to stand beside Captain Santagar, who had his blade in one hand and his trusty spyglass in the other.

Santagar didn't say anything, his expression pale and caked in sweat as he instead pointed east, the same direction that had the Crew looking so afraid.

In his rush to find out what was going on, as well as to prevent himself from throwing up all over the deck due, Baelor had completely forgotten to take in his surrounding, not noticing how the sky had darkened to a light grey color, nor how the ship was moving more so than usual as it responded to the waves beneath it.

Turning his head in in the direction that the Captain had pointed, he finally saw what had everyone looking so hopeless, and he would be lying to himself if he himself wasn't a little bit afraid by what he saw. For although he may have been a fully-fledged knight, at heart he was but a young man who hadn't experienced his first kiss, let alone his first taste of battle.

A large ship (twice as large as The Challenger), flying black sails and a skull and crossbones flag, wasn't but a league and a half away, and was gaining on them with an increasing amount of speed. At this pace, they'd reach The Challenger in a matter of minutes.

Baelor turned around, his hand on his sword hilt as he once again surveyed the solemn and dejected faces of Captain Santagar and his men. If it was the will of the Seven that he and the men aboard The Challenger should die, then he was going to make sure that they would die the most heroic of deaths.

Seeing a pile of crates near the main mast, he climbed upon them so that the entire crew could see him. Clearing his throat loudly, and seeing that he had gained the attention of everyone on board, he began to speak.

"Death. That is what awaits us in the upcoming battle, there's no use denying it ... not anymore. You stand before me, men of simple means and humble origins, men who have no knowledge and no need of warfare, and yet despite your best efforts to avoid it, war has come to you. They enemy outnumber us 3 to 1. They have superior weapons, and a lifetime of battle experience, but all of this means nothing, for they lack the one thing that every man here possesses ... and that one thing is Honor. Although all of us may die here today, it doesn't mean that we cannot show our enemy - that we, men of lesser numbers and less experience, can still bring death and destruction down upon those who would see us tremble before them. And so I say unto each and everyone one of you, do not fear Death. For Death, in time, comes to us all. If it is our destiny to die here today, that at least all of us can die in the most glorious of ways, fighting to the last breathe even though we are scared and there is no hope of victory. For the real heroes are those who fight even though there is no hope, real heroes do not let their fear of death overpower their sense honor, and real heroes do not bow down to the like of which we are about to face! What Say You?"

Such was the power of his words, that by the time he had finished speaking, he had the entire crew standing straighter with their various weapons raised high in the air as they began to stamp their feet and shout.

"BAELOR! BAELOR! BAELOR!"

Baelor couldn't help but let a satisfied grin grace his expression as he listened to his name being chanted over and over again, quiet proud of the fact that he had changed their outlook on their inevitable death, and had given them something to fight for in the process.

But as the crew was so wrapped up in their shouting, cheering and stamping their feet upon the wooden deck, they were completely unaware that their enemy was heading straight towards them at full speed. By the time that they noticed that their enemy was upon them, it was already too late.

The crew of The Challenger watched in absolute horror as their enemy came speeding towards them, and it wasn't until it was too late that they realized the Pirates had no intention of slowing down. They were proven right moments later when the pirates sailed their much larger ship, straight into the side of The Challenger.

Everyone on aboard The Challenger where instantly thrown backwards by the force of the blow, their bodies landing scattered amongst the deck. Baelor himself had been blasted some 10 feet back, landing quiet roughly on his side and bumping his head quiet hard in the process.

Moaning loudly from his position on the floor, Baelor slowly got to his feet, his head and the entire left side of his body aching from where he had landed upon the hard wooden deck. Knowing that he didn't have a second to loose, Baelor withdrew his sword from its sheath and began to help his fallen comrades get back onto their feet.

He was halfway through helping the ships cook when the screaming began. Looking up from his crouched position, he saw something that made him drop the person he was holding. It appeared as if the Pirates had finally made their way onto The Challenger, and without further ado, had begun to attack anything and everything in sight.

Without even a second thought, Baelor sprinted towards the nearest pirate, his sword raised high in the air as he positioned himself to attack. The pirate before him was twice the size of him and at least three times as wide, he was wearing a collection of mismatched armor, as if each piece had belonged to various people, and carried a large double-sided axe in hand and a spear in the other. But as he went to strike the larger man, his hand all of a sudden became still and for the first time in his life he questioned whether he was ready to be cause of someone's death, but his decision was made for him a moment later when the extremely large pirate before him, roared at the top of his lungs and swung his mighty axe straight at Baelors head.

Quickly ducking the enormous blade, Baelor turned his own weapon horizontally in order to deflect his opponents' blows, an action he was thankful for as not a moment later the unnamed pirate was once again taking aim at his head. This time, he was able to deflect the incoming blow (a blow that would've broken any other blade), although the vibrations from the strike where painful enough.

Not to be discouraged, the Pirate threw his spear to the ground and grasped his axe with two-hands, what came next was onslaught of heavy blows, each more powerful than the last. Baelors blade was continuously vibrating as each blow landed upon the flat of his blade, his forehead dripped with sweat and his teeth grating against one another as he struggled to keep his arm in the air.

Eventually he wasn't able to take any more of the pain, and so as the pirate went to strike at him once more, he quickly moved his blade out of the way, which resulted in the pirates axe hitting the floor with tremendous force, so powerful in fact, that it became lodged within the wooden panels of the deck.

Seeing a golden opportunity, Baelor began to go on the offensive, his sword swinging forward with amazing agility, the pirate slowly backed away, not as sure as he had been a few moments ago. But just as Baelor lunged at his opponent, his sword aimed for his enemies stomach, his blow was cut short by a sword blocking his path. Looking upwards, his eyes locked onto the now grinning face of his opponent, who had somehow made a sword appear from thin air.

Quickly getting himself under control, he once again leapt forward, his sword once again plunging forward, only to be knocked aside once again. This continued for some time, he would strike at the pirate and the pirate would strike at him, each of them trying to land a blow, only to fail. What the pirate had in experience, Baelor made up with sheer energy and determination, his blade moving twice as fast then his opponents. What seemed like hours past, but in actual fact was only a few minutes, and slowly but surely they were both beginning to wear themselves out, but they both knew that whoever faltered first would be the first to die. Taking advantage of his youth Baelor began to quicken his pace, his blade flying through the air at such speed that the pirate was having trouble keeping up with him, and it wasn't long before he made a mistake.

Using a trick that Ser Barristan had taught to him, Baelor swung his blade left, and as he expected his opponent went to defend himself, but at the very last second, just when his opponent's sword was about to strike his own, he pulled back as fast as he could. Because his sword wasn't there to block his strike, all of the power that the pirate had put into his defense was wasted, which caused him to stumble forward. Seeing an opening on his enemies' side, Baelor quickly swung his blade forward with all of the strength that he possessed, the tip of his blade entering through his ribcage and lodging itself deeply within the pirates chest, streams of blood splattering his face and front as he repeatedly stabbed his, by now, very dead opponent.

Having no time to stand around, Baelor quickly found another pirate to battle, only this one was around 5 ft. 5 and carried a sword and shield. This this battle didn't take nearly half as long, this pirate clearly wasn't a very competent one, and it wasn't long before he too found himself lying in a pool of his own blood.

This was pretty much the pattern as Baelor went from pirate to pirate, killing each one that came at him. Some were more competent then others, landing a few blows here and their but for the most part they were know where near as skilled as the first pirate he had battled, nor as large either.

Half an hour had passed and the battle was beginning to take its toll on Baelor. His arms felt and legs felt like lead, he had several injuries (including 3 broken ribs, a deep gash going from his shoulder to his elbow on his left arm and large cut across his right cheek), and his whole body was covered from head to toe in a thick layer of sweat and blood.

Pulling his sword from the body of his latest victim, Baelor breathed heavily as he stopped to take in the chaos that surrounded him. What was once a beautiful ship now lay in ruins, pieces of broken wood, dead bodies and blood littered the entire deck. From his position at the very back of the ship, Baelor had a pretty good view of what was happening, and it didn't take an expert to see that the hordes of pirates where decimating unending against the meager forces of The Challenger.

Seeing death after death of The Challenger's crew made him feel guilty, it was he after all who had given them this big speech about not fearing death, even though he himself was scared of it. How he wished they had raised a truce flag and given everything of value to their enemy, maybe then they would have left The Challenger alone. Just as he was about to go back and join the fight, he saw something that made him cry out in anguish. Captain Santagar was in the middle of fighting a pirate (and winning by the looks of it), when from out of nowhere came another pirate, this one carrying a large broadsword, and whilst the Captain was busy fighting the first pirate, the second pirate swung his large sword straight at Santagar's head, splitting it straight down the middle, brains and blood flying everywhere as his limb body fell to the ground in a heap.

Baelor didn't know what to do as someone who he had lived with for the better part of the month was killed before his eyes. Sure, he hadn't Santagar for very long, but the man had kept him company on many a long night and had always did his best to be a generous host. To see him die in such a gruesome fashion was simply beyond belief, and only gave evidence to the fact that this needed to end now, before any more of his comrades' lives were lost.

He didn't know if his plan would work or not, having done nothing of this magnitude before, neither did he know if it was such a wise decision to do what he was about to do, but as he had very little options left he was going to do it anyway. When he had visited the Children of the Forrest all those years ago and been gifted with the ability to use Magic, they had told him three things. Firstly, that he wouldn't have the full use of his powers until he had seen 14 name days, the Second thing they had told him was not to do anything over complicated until he had reached said age, and thirdly that performing great feats of Magic before he was ready could result in life-threatening injuries. Even since that day he made sure to only use his gift for small deeds, moving objects and the like, but it seemed today would be the day that that all changed.

Sheathing his sword, Baelor slowly raised his arms, quiet the chore given he had three broken ribs and every bone in his body felt like it was on fire. No incantations or special action was required for the magic to take shape, instead it required concentration and control. Standing with his arms spread wide, Baelor began to envision what he wanted to happen and it wasn't long before he his vision was became reality.

No magical lights or glowing beams suddenly sprang from Baelors hands, but what did emerge from his hands was the strongest gust of air ever to be seen, air so powerful that it rocked the entire ship from side to side. Aiming his hands at everyone on deck, it wasn't long before the sheer pressure knocked the pirates and crew members into the nearest object, the force of the blow knocking them all unconscious before they had even hit the ground.

Baelor sighed in relief, even though he had knocked his own side unconscious, he could now go around and tied up the rest of the remaining pirates and wait for his comrades to awaken. Just as he was about to go and look for some rope to tire up his prisoners, he began to feel extremely dizzy and disoriented, not a moment later his head was wracked with an extreme amount of pain. Clutching his head in agony Baelor fell to his knees, his hands clawing at his head as tried to make the pain go away. This continued for several minutes, until the pain became so unbearable that he too fell to the ground, his body landing with a heavy thud as he succumbed to the darkness.

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